“Get back in your car, Mark!” Johnny yelled, and the trooper suddenly remembered the bats and quickly jumped in and closed the door.
“We haven’t seen any bats tonight!” Stokes yelled through the shattered window. “Just those crazies. But all the front windows are broken and the wire ripped off.”
Mark pulled his unit in tight with the trailer and lowered a window about an inch. “You can’t stay in there. Not until that wire is replaced.”
“They can bunk at my place until morning,” Johnny called. “Get your gear and follow me.”
Lieutenant Stokes hesitated. He and his men had been assigned this sector, this post. He couldn’t leave without orders. “I can’t leave, sir,” he called. “I have my orders.”
“Would you rather face a court-martial or the bats?” Mark shouted. “This trailer is right over their fly-path.”
“I’m gettin’ tired of this chickenshit outfit anyway,” Sergeant Whitaker repeated the words that have been said by millions of soldiers in dozens of languages. “Let’s get out of here, Tommy.”
“Yeah,” Stokes agreed after only a few seconds of hesitation. “Okay. We’d be committing suicide by staying here. And we’re not paid to do that. Pack it up, people.”
While the guardsmen were grabbing items and packing up, Johnny pulled over to Mark’s unit and asked, “Anything else you want me to do?”
“I don’t guess so, Johnny. I ’ppreciate you taking these folks in.”
“I understand from all the chatter on this radio things are breaking pretty fast in the parish.”
“Yeah, brother.” Mark quickly brought him up to date on all that he knew about.
“Come the morning, once the guardsmen are resettled back here, I’m going to drive the back roads.”
“That’s risky, Johnny.”
“But there may be people out there who need help.”
Mark smiled, the smile visible from the glow of dashlights. “You’re not getting paid to put your ass on the line, Johnny.”
“Maybe I’m so used to doing that it’s second nature.”
Mark laughed. “Yeah. Right. See you.” Once a hero, always a hero, Mark thought, but if you called him that, Johnny would probably laugh in your face.
* * *
A few hours later, just as dawn was splitting the eastern skies, Johnny sat in the den with Blair, Lieutenant Stokes, and Sergeant Whitaker, watching the local news on TV. It was not good.
The authorities were still counting the dead.
According to the local reporter (they don’t get bent to the left until they hit the networks, or so it seems), the bats all vanished, parishwide, at the same time, as if called by some silent signal.
“That’s interesting,” Blair said. “But it’s going to take someone with a lot more expertise in the workings of a bat’s brain than I have to figure out why.” She looked up. “Military types coming up the drive.”
Stokes stood up. “That’ll be General Bancroft, coming to tell me my butt is in a sling for lipping off to that colonel.”
“I doubt it,” Johnny said, then walked out onto the porch. The young lieutenant had told him word for word about the exchange. Johnny met the general, and then laid it on him, ending with, “And while Stokes was trying to fight off three rabies-crazed people, one of whom was just about to crawl into the window, some Remington Raider colonel of yours, a hundred and fifty miles away, was lecturing Stokes about military protocol. If that thumb-up-the-ass colonel of yours gives that boy in there a bad fitness report, there are still quite a few strings I can pull. Do we understand each other, General?”
General Bancroft’s aide paled and stiffened in shock, but Bancroft smiled and then laughed out loud. “That’d be Colonel Dickerson. I hate to speak ill of my officers, but Dickerson is all mouth and little else. He likes to brag about his being in Korea. He was there, all right, but it was in 1964 and he was two hundred and fifty miles from the DMZ. Under the circumstances, Lieutenant Stokes was right and Dickerson was wrong. I’ll take care of it. If you will, would you please ask the lieutenant to come out here. I want to go over to the trailer that was attacked last evening . . . this morning, rather. I’m here for the duration, Colonel MacBride, US Army, retired.” He smiled and the smile told Johnny somebody had spoken to the General. “I’m issuing orders to my men that they are to shoot to kill if they are attacked.”
“Does the press know about that order?”
Bancroft smiled. “Not yet. But I expect a great cry of protest when they learn of it.”
“You can bet on that.”
The guardsmen who had gone with General Bancroft, Johnny, and Blair secured Skipper and June and loaded up the truck, then Blair helped him put the camper top over the bed.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked.
“Fixing a place for survivors to be safe after we pick them up.”
“I just love a person with a positive attitude,” she said with a smile.
Johnny put a box of canned food and bottled water in the now-covered bed of the truck, blankets went on top of that. “You’re not doing that just in case we find someone, are you?” Blair asked.
He shook his head. “We might get stuck out in the parish, Blair. Blow an engine; anything might happen. I’m a man who likes to be ready for the unexpected.”
“I never would have guessed it,” she said solemnly, but with a twinkle in her eyes.
Johnny paused and looked at her. “You’re a good sport, Blair. I don’t know many people, male or female, who would stay as calm as you under these circumstances.”
“To return the compliment, Johnny: I don’t know anybody else like you. No one that even comes close.”
He smiled. “Well, I guess we make a pretty good pair, don’t we?”
She nodded her head. “Pretty good, Johnny.”
“We’ll have to work on making it perfect.”
“That might take years.”
“Suits me.”
She smiled and got into the cab. “You South Carolina fellers buy a pig in a poke pretty easy, boy.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Johnny said with a laugh.
That was to be the last laugh they would have for several hours.
* * *
Royal Crown was dead. She had become separated from Clyde and Dark Moon in the dark timber and fell into unconsciousness shortly after that. While she was still alive, although barely, a pack of wild pigs came upon the bloody body and had themselves a feast. Two big boars, two sows, and a number of more than half grown pigs all had them a good taste of Royal Crown. They did not leave much behind when they wandered on, full of rabies-diseased human flesh and blood. Only the rib cage, glistening in the faint light, a few scattered bones, and the skull, dull eyes open in death.
The wild hogs wandered on. Within a couple of hours, they were feeling strange and mean. By daylight, they were enraged and slobbering at the mouth, with but one thought on their minds: to find something alive, and kill it!
* * *
“What’s down this road?” Johnny asked.
“Not much,” Blair told him, frowning as she tried to remember. “Oh, well, I guess the Morlund family still lives down here. Down by the levee.” She looked at him. “We better check on them, Johnny.”
“Yeah.”
Fifteen minutes later, Johnny pulled up in the drive and saw what was left of the dog and the man.
“Oh, God!” Blair said. “Look at the house. Every window has been broken out.”
Johnny drove slowly around the farmhouse. In the rear, he saw where a small window, probably a bathroom, had been boarded up, from the inside. He lowered his window.
“Hello. Is anyone in there?”
“Yes!” came the muffled scream. “But I think the bats are still in the house. They were in the attic and in the rooms. But I don’t hear them anymore.”
“Did they bite you?”
“No! But they damn near caused me to have a heart attack!”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you knew Pete. Her husband. The bones out front, I guess. Pete was a good man, but stubborn as a mule. Got him killed, too.”
“Can you get me out, Mister?” Agnes called.
“I’m sure going to try, lady. If you hear some bumping, don’t be alarmed. I’m going to back the truck up pretty hard against the house to see if that’ll spook the bats out.”
“They sure as hell spooked me last night!” Agnes called. “Is Pete dead?”
“Agnes!” Blair called. “It’s me. Blair Perkins. Yes. We think that’s Pete in the front yard. You hang on. We’re going to get you out.”
Johnny backed the truck up and slammed into the house several times, the big rear bumper impacting against the brick and frame homes. No bats came winging out. Johnny pulled away from the house and got out, opening the camper shell.
“I don’t think there are any bats there. But I don’t want to take a chance,” he said, backing up until the tailgate was only inches from the house. “Mrs. Morlund! I’ve got my truck backed up to the window. Can you tear down those boards and scramble out into my camper?”
“You just watch me!” Agnes used the claw of the hammer to rip the door down and she was out of the bathroom and into the camper seconds later, closing the camper tight. She looked at what was left of Pete as Johnny headed for the blacktop. “I told you, Pete. But you never would listen to anyone except yourself.”
A mile or so from the house, Johnny stopped and Agnes crawled out of the camper. The women hugged each other and then Blair introduced Johnny.
“I’ve seen you in town,” Agnes said, patting her. “My word, I must look a mess. Just let me prattle on, Blair. I ... saw what was left of Pete.”
“I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. Morlund,” Johnny said.
“Pete got himself killed,” the woman said. “He was a stubborn man. He wouldn’t ever listen to anyone else. Blackie was a good dog, too. I always kept him in the house when Pete was gone hunting. Look, there are other families out here. One over there about two miles,” she pointed, “and several over yonder. Can we check on them?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll stay in the camper; sit on the blankets. I, uh, just need to compose myself a bit.”
“We understand,” Blair said.
Johnny pulled up into the yard of the lone house and shook his head. All the windows were smashed out. There were bones on the front porch, picked clean. “What house is this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Blair replied, opening the sliding glass to the camper. “Agnes? Who lived here?”
“Jim and Pat Mathis. Two kids. I don’t want to look. I got my eyes closed. Are they . . . ?”
“Yes. The bats have been here.”
“Goddamn them! Goddamn them to hell! That’s where they came from. Awful, terrible creatures. Just... goddamn them!” She put her hands to her face and let the tears flow.
“What road is this, Blair?”
“Buffalo Bayou. That’s it right over there. Government land begins just past the bayou.”
“Government land?”
“Yes. Thousands and thousands of acres of it. Used to be a logging camp in there, back, oh, ninety years ago, I guess. Then it was oil and gas until the wells played out. The government took the leases back, or whatever and for a while there were plans to turn it into a refuge. But nothing ever became of that.”
“And what’s in there now?”
“Nothing. Not a thing. Oh, well, deer, coyotes, bear, wild hogs, and poachers, of course. You find those scummy bastards nearly everywhere, I suppose.”
There was considerable heat in her voice and Johnny smiled at her. She cut her eyes to him and smiled.
“I hate poachers. Not hunters, poachers. My father and grandfather were hunters, but they never hunted out of season and only killed what they could eat. Poachers kill everything, Johnny. Hawks, song birds, you name it, they’ll kill it. They kill because they like to kill and they’ll take human life just as thoughtlessly and carelessly if they’re discovered poaching. They’ve screwed up the ecosystem in Africa and they’ll do it here if we let them.”
She shook her head. “Listen to me. Agnes just lost her husband and I’m lecturing you on poaching.”
Johnny put the truck in gear. “Let’s go check on those other houses and then I’ll call in.”
“You know what we’re going to find.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Fifteen
Johnny met a roaming national guard patrol in a Humvee and handed over Agnes Morlund to them. He told them what he and Blair had found thus far and asked them to relay that information to Sheriff Young and Captain Alden.
“It’s gettin’ really grim, Mr. MacBride,” the noncom in charge of the small patrol said. “Those bats struck hard last night. The lieutenant governor has ordered a dusk to dawn curfew for this entire area. Goes into effect this evening.”
“How is he planning to enforce it?” Johnny asked. “Has he ordered you people to shoot citizens who break the curfew?”
The sergeant smiled. “That’s the problem, Mr. MacBride. No teeth in the order.”
Johnny and Blair drove over to the small community Agnes had pointed out. They knew in their guts what they would find, and their suspicions were confirmed as they pulled up into the first drive. The houses looked as though they had been trashed by vandals. All the windows were broken, curtains and blinds shredded and ragged. The stripped bones of a victim lay between two of the houses; caught out in the open, helpless, he or she had been quickly savaged.
Johnny opened his door and Blair cut her eyes. “You’re not getting out!”
“Yeah. I’ve got to check for anyone living.” He reached for his shotgun.
“Including the bats?”
“I think they’re gone. Look at those sparrows pecking away over there. I just saw squirrels in that oak tree next door. The bats are gone.”
“Then I’m going in with you.”
Johnny knew better than to argue with her. With both of them carrying shotguns, bandoleers of shells crisscrossing their chests, they stepped up onto the porch of the first house.
“You will allow me to enter first, won’t you, Madame Feminist?”
“Go right ahead, Mr. Male Chauvinist.”
They were joking to hide their nervousness and both of them knew it. Johnny paused in the doorway and shook his head at the sight. The floors and walls and even the ceiling was splattered with blood. The bodies of a dozen or so huge bats lay amid the ruins. The bones of two people lay slick and shining on the floor. A pistol lay near the bones of one, a shotgun by the other. Live rounds for both the weapons were shattered about.
“Is anybody alive in here?” Johnny called. “Answer me.”
Only the echo of his words returned.
“They made a fight of it,” Blair said. “For all the good it did them.” Blair took pictures with Johnny’s 35 mm camera.
Johnny walked over to the next house while Blair drove the truck. It was replay of the first house. Only this time there were the bones of several kids with the adults. Johnny silently cursed at the sight. The bones of a small dog lay beside its child master . . . the dog had refused to leave the side of the child.
Johnny called out, not expecting any reply and not receiving any. But at the last house, he heard a whimpering coming from a back room. “Get ready,” he whispered to Blair. “Some of the bats might have stayed behind, waiting for a live one. They’ve got a lot more sense than we first thought.”
He was right. Suddenly half a dozen of the winged mutant horrors silently leaped at them from the floor of the back room. The house rocked under the impact of the shotguns and the bats were blown to bloody furry pieces. Johnny and Blair quickly reloaded, both of them dropping shells on the floor in their haste, and Johnny called out again.
“In
here, mister,” a child’s voice called. “Please help us. Please!”
Kicking dead bats out of their way, Johnny and Blair hurried into the back room, wary of any waiting bats. Their wariness paid off. One bat, the biggest either of them had seen thus far, leaped at them. One of its wings had been broken, but it could still move with incredible speed. Johnny slowed it down forever with his 12 gauge.
Blair opened the closet door and two small kids, a boy and girl, maybe eight and nine, came rushing out. Both of them had been crying and they were badly shaken, near hysteria. For that matter, Johnny and Blair weren’t in all that good a shape, either. Their nerves were stretched as tight as a guitar string.
“Let’s get gone from here,” Johnny said, taking the boy’s hand and leading the way out of the blood-splattered home and out into the sunlight.
It was several minutes later before the kids could speak. The girl, the oldest by a year or so, Johnny and Blair guessed, said, “They came just at sundown. Real quick. Aunt Carol pushed me and Rich into the closet and told us to be quiet. It was awful after that. For maybe two or three minutes. Then it was just the sounds of those . . . things eating. That went on and on.” She fell silent.
“Your mother and father?” Blair asked gently.
“Our real parents are dead. Four years ago. We were adopted by Aunt Carol’s sister and her husband. Just last year. We were down here visiting from Michigan. They’re back there with the rest of the folks.”
“You have no other family?” Johnny asked.
The boy shook his head. “I guess not,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”
Johnny drove straight to his house, dropped off Blair and the kids, and then drove into town to buy some clothes for them. He stopped by the temporary HQ of Captain Alden. Phil was there, as were several national guardsmen.
Johnny told them what he’d found. “The kids can stay with Blair and me until we get this mess sorted out. Any of you have objections to that?”
None did. Captain Alden said, “They’ll be a lot better off with you and Blair than in the hands of social workers. And your place is probably the safest place in the parish.” He smiled. “But you didn’t hear me say any of that.”
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